


New and a bit alarming

by emmsi



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Designer clothes, Doing homework, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Flat-Pack Furniture, Fluff, Music, POV Sansa Stark, Pop Culture, Romantic Comedy, Sansa-centric, Slow Burn, Successful Sansa, Yoga, careers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-04-22 19:25:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14315529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmsi/pseuds/emmsi
Summary: Sansa sets off the fire alarm at her new gym, and meets a large guy with a sister who's not adjusting well to her new school…A light-hearted fic set in modern Westeros with this-world pop culture.(Please note: first chapter will be confusing if you aren't familiar with the Terminator...)Sansa is in her twenties, and Sandor isn't that much older because he has a much younger sister.





	1. Chapter 1

Sansa tugged her well-loved blue jumper over her new dress. The feel of the satin was luxurious, the ethereal pattern of goldfish and swans made her feel beautiful, and the name of the dress was truly magical: Love Potion. Perhaps it’d help her find true love today. She took in a deep breath, hoping that the glow she’d acquired after her workout session at her new gym would also help beckon her Florian to her.

She was smiling when she pressed the green exit button and waited for the door to slide open. It was only when the sirens assaulted her ears that she’d realised that here, at her new gym, the green button was not for exit; it was the fire alarm.

Oh no… She should stay and apologise. It was only proper. But there was someone swearing up a storm behind her, and oh gods, how was she going to come back to this gym ever again if all the staff were to _know_? Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods… Before she knew it, she’d legged it out of the gym and made it across the road, round a corner, and… and… she’d sort it all out tomorrow. Find a new gym. Keep paying the direct debit for this one for a year, because she owed them that much.

It was such a shame, because this had been the only gym walkable from her flat that had a non-motorised treadmill and a rope trainer. And a lovely golden hand design for its logo. And, well, a sauna and a Jacuzzi. All right, all right, she’d signed up for the sauna and Jacuzzi. Maybe she could still go back? She could disguise herself. Dye her hair brown, perhaps?

She rounded another corner, and a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye made her look back. That was when she saw… it.

It was wearing a dark grey top, but its trousers, boots and trademark leather jacket were all black. While its hair was longer than it should have been, what made it unmistakeably _it_ was the trace of red that snaked down the left side of its face that couldn’t quite be disguised by its black sunglasses. And, of course, it was too large to be human.

‘Sansa Stark?’ it said in a voice much like a growl.

Oh gods… Why did it know her name? And why was it running towards her at top speed?

She launched into her own top speed, which was sadly nowhere near its top speed, as she’d been quite eager to do a full thirty minutes of cardio on her first day at the new gym, and she was now wearing strappy heels. These were her favourite heels when she was sitting down.

Luckily, the buzz of the main road came into view. She’d never been so glad to see those orange flames painted on the sides of a dragon cab. One was waiting near the crossroads now, and she threw herself into the passenger seat.

‘Wait!’ it called.

‘Please drive,’ she said to the cabbie.

‘Where to?’

Well… her own flat was literally down the road. He’d kick her out if she gave him her address. So she named her favourite bistro near the Dragonpit instead and hoped that it wouldn’t jump onto the dragon cab and punch through the windscreen before she reached safety.

She looked through the back window, watching it fade into nothing but a dot. Thankfully it didn’t seem to have its motorbike to hand. She let out a sigh of relief.

In a way, it was a good sign, because unlike the woman in the film, Sansa Stark was an unusual name; she was in fact the only Sansa Stark in the world. That meant two things: no others have had to die in vain, and she’d one day find love and have at least one child. Would she meet the father soon? Her very own Florian?

Which reminded her… She pulled out her phone and checked for the bids on her bBay of the life-sized inflatable Foolish, for as much as she loved Florian’s half-horse, half-marshmallow sidekick, she’d been gifted with two, and her flat was now exploding with Florian and Jonquil collectables, so much so that there’d been nowhere to store her new electric high harp. With under an hour before the listing would end, _dunskendale_hollard_ ’s initial bid had been eclipsed by a new bid from _justahound_. Sansa smiled. She’d worried over offering the listing as collection only, as even when deflated, Foolish would cost a fortune to post. But no, there were two people willing to offer her precious Foolish a new home! Perhaps if they were true Florian and Jonquil fans, she could throw in a few posters and colouring books for free.

By the time she’d wolfed down a house salad at the bistro, her good mood had returned, so she drew out her headphones and notebook and ordered a slice of lemon cake and a cup of fresh mint tea. The violin intro invoked sadness and regret, and when the beat kicked in, there was strength and resolve too, so she drew on her memories with Joffrey and tested out the words. _You’re a waste of time_ , she tried, and crossed it out. _You had my cake and you ate it_ , she wrote as the lemon cake disappeared into her mouth, then crossed that out. _My skin has gone from porcelain, to ivory, to steel_ , she tried for a third time. Oh, nothing felt right without characters to play, but she had to make this work; the next few songs could bring her career to new heights. They had to. Twenties was too young to peak.

A ping from her phone disturbed the chorus. _justahound_ had placed the winning bid and had transferred the payment straight away. _A++, good buyer!_ she tapped out, making the buyer’s number of feedbacks a grand old total of two. The other was a review for buying a… slave? Was that even legal? Slavery had been abolished for centuries in Essos and… oh, it was a slave cylinder, whatever that was. She sent the buyer a quick message with her number to arrange pick-up.

Dusk was finally falling, and she shivered as the evening air clung to her bare legs. An hour had gone by, and there’d been no trace of the cyborg, so it must be safe enough to go home. In fact, she must have misunderstood the whole situation. Oh, how Arya would laugh if she was to ever found out that forcing Sansa watch a film like that would lead to such a stupid misunderstanding. After all, fiction and real life were two very different things. The mirage that she saw couldn’t actually have been _that_ large and _that…_ solid. And it must have said something like… Centre Park… instead of Sansa Stark. There was no Centre Park anywhere close by. Poor guy. He must have been terribly lost.

Her feet still suffered from the sprint session in these heels, so she waved down a dragon cab again and allowed it to sweep her through these now-familiar streets of King’s Landing. More often than not nowadays, she’d been thinking of the city as a pit of pollution and petty crime, but now, everything looked magical, painted pink by the setting sun. As magical as it had all looked when she’d first arrived here from Winterfell, bright-eyed and dreaming of Joffrey.

She sighed as she reached the entrance to her building. Even a dress like Love Potion wasn’t enough to gift her the romantic chance encounter she so desperately craved.

‘Sansa Stark?’ there was a rasp from an arm’s length away. It definitely didn’t say Centre Parks, and it was even larger than she’d remembered, standing close enough for her to breathe in the smell of leather from its jacket.

She fumbled for the entrance pass and dropped it on the floor. There was only one thing to it…

‘Wait!’ it rasped. ‘Why are you running away?’

‘Why are you after me?’ she said, struggling for breath.

‘You dropped your driving licence at the gym. I’m only trying to return the damned thing,’ said the cyborg from the future, which couldn’t really be a cyborg from the future, because why would anyone send a cyborg from the future to return her driving licence?

She turned and looked at him. Really looked. Yes, he was a very large man, and there were twisted red marks on the left side of his face, but thankfully they did not offer a glimpse to the metal underneath, but were simply scars. Now that it was evening, he no longer wore his sunglasses, and there was no trace of the machine-red glow behind his slate-grey eyes. What really cinched the deal on his human nature was the missing ear. And there, outstretched in his hands, was her driving license with her all-too-familiar unflattering mugshot. She must have dropped it in the rush to leave.

Sansa squeezed his hands as she took the driving licence from him, smiling in relief to find that though they were hard and callused, they were also warm and human. She threw her arms around him and crushed him to her, feeling only the hardness of muscles instead of metal.

‘Thank you so much!’ she said, and flushed red when she realised that he must have seen her set off the fire alarm at the gym. ‘I… uh… it was an accident.’

He didn’t reply, but neither did he leave. In fact, he was staring at her as if _she_ was a cyborg.

She’d better tell him that she was heading back, because another moment in these heels would probably lead to her feet needing amputation, although they did make her legs look ever so long.

But what came out was, ‘Can I buy you a drink? As a token of thanks?’

Because she was a good girl, and always remembered her manners.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor eats chicken and Sansa thinks about her career.

Sansa kicked off her strappy heels and swapped them for her go-to mirror-leather flats with a butterfly wing across each shoe. She’d bought them years ago, right before ending things with Joffrey, because they made her feel free; they gave her wings. Now they flew her down the stairs to where the large man waited.

‘Thanks for waiting,’ she said. ‘There’s a nice bar just a few minutes’ walk away. The Guild of Alchemists. Do you know it?’

He shook his head and rasped, ‘Lead the way.’

It was a little hipster and served cocktails out of jam jars that’d look far too small in his hands, but it had comfortable red leather booths, and the music was never too loud for a little conversation, so she hoped that it would do.

But of course it wouldn’t, because when they’d reached the bar, there was a sign in the window saying, _SHUT HAPPENS: We’re closed for refurbishment!_

‘Let’s try next door,’ said the man after she’d spent far too long willing shut to stop happening, and strode straight into the shop next door.

Except the shop next door was nothing like The Guild of Alchemists; next door had a sign saying NFC, underneath which read in a garish blue, _NO FRIED CHICKEN!_ It did indeed serve no fried chicken. Instead, its chicken was barbequed, and the value box was a dirty-cheap twelve wings for three gold dragons.

The man ordered it straight away.

Was this… all right? Sansa had always bought drinks, coffees, flowers or chocolate to show her gratitude, but super value chicken wings in a shop with only two greasy, aluminium tables and the radio for background music didn’t seem quite right. She ordered them two fizzy drinks, because the only other things they had were battered cheese skewers, battered cupcakes and pickled onions. They sat down at the only free table, as the other was occupied by an old lady in a loud-blue sunhat.

‘So,’ she tried as she watched a chicken wing disappear into his mouth. A little barbeque sauce had smeared across the scarred side, and she itched to wipe it away with a sheet of those plastic-y napkins that felt harder than writing paper. She’d already thanked him five times, and apologised over six, so should she ask about the chicken? He was popping another in his mouth. She shouldn’t ask a question when his mouth was full. She waited, and just as she opened her mouth again, so did he, and in went another wing.

She stared, and realised that he’d noticed her staring, and staring was rude, so she pulled her gaze away and said, before she could stop herself, ‘Have you been going to that gym for long?’

He scoffed and seemed to swallow half the wing whole. ‘No, and neither have you.’

‘Oh,’ she said, sitting up straighter and leaned her arms on the table. ‘Do you know everyone at the gym then?’

‘Of course. Photographic memory.’ His eyes twinkled when hers went wide, and he barked a laugh. ‘The gym is new, girl. Jaime and Brienne opened it two months ago. No one’s been there for long.’

‘You know the owners then?’

‘Aye. They’re… old acquaintances.’

‘Are they… are they angry at me for setting off the fire alarm?’

‘Don’t worry your pretty head about that. Everyone’s just glad it wasn’t a real fire. Wouldn’t recommend getting burned,’ he rasped, waving his hand across his scars.

Ah. So that’s what they were.

‘Aren’t you going to eat anything?’ he rasped before she could offer words of comfort, meaningless as they were. He gazed at his last three chicken wings. ‘Not your sort of place?’

It wasn’t, but she’d almost wished that she hadn’t eaten earlier, alone, while trying to avoid him. Maybe battered cupcakes could be… nice with a squeeze of lemon?

 _Fool for You_ started playing on the radio, and despite the awards, she was still the proudest when she heard it playing in the real world. It wasn’t often that songs from animated films made it into the charts.

‘Ugh.’

‘What?’

‘That song,’ he growled. ‘It’s everywhere. Why don’t they play some real music?’

‘All music is _real_ ,’ she snapped, forgetting that she was here to thank him in that moment. Joffrey’s face floated into her mind, jeering at her early compositions. _Was that written by a five-year-old?_ _Come on Sansa, you might be able to sell a few albums if you get on stage in hot pants, but no one’s going to listen to such a stupid song if they can’t see your face. And they won’t, if you’re just the songwriter._

His mouth twitched and he finished the last wing. ‘Like that sort of song, do you?’

‘I _write_ that sort of song,’ she said.

He blinked, as if trying to make sense of her words, then rasped, ‘Anything I’d have heard of?’

‘The song they’re playing right now.’

‘What?’

‘The song they’re playing,’ she said, though she’d rarely reveal her profession to a stranger, ‘right now. Fool for You, from Florian and Jonquil. And all the other songs from Florian and Jonquil.’

‘Oh,’ he said.

Oh indeed. She’d managed to kill the conversation. What had happened to her courtesies? Mother would be horrified.

‘I… guess you need to get going,’ he said, looking away. He gathered the spare napkins and wiped the aluminium table so that it looked cleaner than what they’d started with.

‘Yes, you must have things to do too,’ she said. ‘Places to be.’

‘I… Yeah. Might need to pick something up.’ He drew out his phone; it looked tiny in his hands. As he fumbled for the bBay icon and allowed the page to load, she couldn’t help but glimpse the photo of her Foolish on his screen.

‘Wait,’ she said, heart sinking and leaping at the same time, ‘are you _justahound_?’

‘What–’

‘That’s my–’

‘You’re _life_is_a_songbird_?’

The tiny, toothless old lady on the table next to them tutted. ‘This is why you shouldn’t trust online dating. I bet he never sent you a real picture of himself.’

‘We are not… This is not…’ Sansa floundered, and wondered why she was trying to defend herself to the accusations of a perfect stranger.

‘Here, this is a photograph of my grandson,’ she said, pushing a photo of a kind-looking man with dark eyes and darker curls under her nose. ‘He makes a hundred thousand gold dragons a year, and owns a huge mansion in the Reach. Would you like to meet him?’

‘Fuck off,’ said _justahound._

‘If that one’s no good, how about this one?’ said the old lady, and this time an impossibly beautiful man was shoved in her face.

Those eyes of molten gold looked a little familiar. It was Loras Tyrell, an up-and-coming young actor who was voicing Danny Flint’s Lord Commander love-interest in the children’s adaptation of _Brave Danny Flint_ , where the cross-dressing girl finds love instead of death at the Wall. He was hoping to hit it big after being cast as a young Symeon Star-Eyes. She’d heard them talk of awards if he’d be able to portray a blind knight convincingly enough.

‘Thought I’ve just asked you to fuck off,’ said _justahound._ Then his grey eyes met Sansa’s. ‘Unless… you want… you were interested in…?’

She shook her head. It wasn’t like she was short of what others would consider eligible bachelors in her life. In fact, the one and only Harry Hardying from Vale 17 had been bombarding her with photos of a far too personal nature ever since the nightmare that was producer MJ Baelish leaked her number to Harry after she’d caught his eye at the award ceremony, though the messages that accompanied the photos were never longer than two emojis, usually consisting a winking face and an aubergine.

No, it wasn’t the lack of handsome, single men earning over a hundred thousand dragons a year. It was just… Everything around her felt dirty, soiled.

When she was a girl, all she’d wanted was to be a star, to be the Princess of Pop. The dresses! The lights! The songs! Oh, the songs… How she’d learned Cersei’s whole True Gold album by heart, and how she’d wished that it had been her when Dany took the world by storm with her platinum blonde pigtails and not-so-innocent school uniform. _It could be you, sweetling_ , MJ Baelish had whispered in her ear, _for a little kiss_. But she didn’t, so it wasn’t.

But now, ten years later, Cersei was twice divorced, dropping in and out of rehab, and had been the star of Liongate, when private videos between her and her twin Jaime as well as her and her cousin Lancel were leaked. Ever since, the only chart she’d topped had been PornHarbour. And Dany… Poor Dany. A hairdresser had accidentally bleach-burned her hair, trying to get it back to platinum blonde after her dark-haired era, wrapped in mini firewyrms, so she’d decided to shave it all off. Next thing she knew, she’d been placed under a conservatorship under claims of mental illness, so that all her affairs was now under the control of her older brother Viserys and his lawyer Illyrio Mopatis. They’d placed her in what those in the industry knew to be a fake publicity relationship with Aegon, in order to further both their careers in the Seven Kingdoms, but all that she ever got were increasingly unflattering photos on the leading gossip site Varyz. _Has she put on MORE WEIGHT or is she PREGNANT???_ the headlines screamed.

Yes, everything felt dirty, felt soiled, but she still loved the songs, and she stilled dreamed of finding her Florian, finding someone loyal and honest and good despite it all. She didn’t think she’d find it with a grandmother making boasts about a hundred thousand gold dragons a year.

‘We’re just here to settle a transaction on bBay,’ she explained to the old woman. And she was almost tempted to tell her that a hundred thousand was nothing to her; _Fool for You_ alone had cashed her over six hundred thousand in the past year.

The old woman threw her a look of disgust. ‘I didn’t know you can buy _those_ sort of things online nowadays. Your designer dress could have fooled me. Good thing you’re going nowhere near either of my grandsons.’

Sansa saw _justahound_ ’s grey eyes turn stone-hard and angry, and laid a hand on his arm.

‘Actually, me and Loras both work on Danny Flint,’ she found herself saying. It wasn’t a lie. He was going to record one of her songs.

Before the old lady could reply, she tugged _justahound_ out of the chicken shop. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. It was meant to be a thank-you and it was threatening to turn into an unpleasant memory for him.

‘Seven hells, stop apologising girl. That fucker insulted _you_ , and–’

‘She said horrible things about you too,’ she said, thinking of the disgust on the old woman’s face when she’d accused _justahound_ of reeling her in with fake photos.

‘Oh that. I’m used to it.’

 _Are you really?_ she wanted to say, because no matter how many times Joffrey had called her stupid, it’d still hurt.

‘If one of us needs say sorry, it should be me,’ he rasped. ‘I was fucking horrible about your song. Not going to lie to you and say I love it, but it’s musical all right. Not like you need the likes of me to say it anyway, when you’ve earned awards for it and all.’

She offered him a smile. ‘Don’t worry, I get it. It’s… pretty annoying if you have kids who put it on loop. I guess you do? Is that why you bid on my Foolish?’

‘No kids or… anything really,’ he said, rubbing his neck. ‘It’s… My sister loves that film. It’s her birthday next week, and we’re holding a party.’

‘Is she much younger?’ she said. After all, the average age of the animated version of _Florian and Jonquil_ was seven. ‘Or just young at heart?’

‘She’s seven. Just transferred to her new school last year, so it will be her first birthday with her new friends.’ His jaws clenched at that, and she wondered if there’d be many of them at the party.

She held the door open for him when they stood in front of her building for the second time that day, and he ducked through. It felt strange to invite him into her home. The truth was that it didn’t feel all that like home. It was a penthouse apartment with a glimpse of Blackwater Bay from the west-facing balcony. Everything in there was brand spanking new. Even the blinds were smooth, electric, noiseless. The underfloor heating was the only thing that reminded her of home. Of Winterfell.

She’d bought the place with Joffrey’s voice echoing in her head. _You’d never be able to live in a place like this again, bitch!_ And after she’d made it, she’d bought this place to show him that she could. There she was, in a flat so very like Joffrey’s, bought with her very own money, and she’d proved a point, except it was so hard to remember what that point was in the evenings, alone in her flat, where every surface was cold, cold marble.

‘Foolish is in there,’ she said, leading the man who was thoroughly un-Joffrey towards the room she’d converted into her music studio.

A speck of blue on her disused treadmill caught her eye. Oh no. She’d left it drying on the treadmill handle. She dashed across the hallway, panting, and stuffed the offending item into her handbag.

This man knew her full name, date of birth, address, occupation and phone number. Now he’d seen her most embarrassing underwear too. Not the nice, lacy ones from Visenya’s Secret, but the faded blues and greys that she used for shark week, and week after, and… after… because cotton briefs were just ever so comfortable, and who would ever see? She wasn’t the type to go beyond a peck on the lips on first dates after all.

With a jolt, Sansa realised that she knew next to nothing about him, apart from him having a sister. She didn’t know if he wore boxers or briefs, though he looked more like the boxers kind of guy, and if he was indeed wearing boxers under those rugged black jeans, then she didn’t know if they were also black. Dark grey would also look nice on him, though it was hard to tell which she’d prefer, paired with the dark hair that was sure to trail down his–

That wasn’t the point. The point was that, she realised with a blush, she didn’t even know his name. Not that it would matter, because she’d never see him again after today.

‘Would you like the inflated one or the deflated one?’ she said quickly.

‘You’ve got two?’

‘I wouldn’t be parting with one otherwise.’

‘That one then,’ he said, pointing to the deflated Foolish. ‘Not so easy to keep it a surprise if I shuffle through the door with it.’

‘She’s staying with you?’

‘Aye, she… lives with me now.’ He stared at his feet, as if he’d already offered too much.

‘You’d better get back then.’

‘Oh, she’s having dinner with a girl from school today.’

She nodded at that, grabbed a few posters of Foolish and Jonquil, and dug around for the colouring book and colouring pens that had been gifted to her. She’d considered giving the pens to Rickon, but they’d just be pens for him; the plastic figures of Jonquil and Foolish wouldn’t have mattered. ‘Here. You said it’s her birthday, right?’

His grey eyes flickered from the colouring books and pens to her, then back again. ‘How much do I owe you?’

‘Nothing. Saves me listing these on bBay later. Take them if you think she’ll like them. Here. I’ll fetch you a bag to put them in.’

‘Do you… Do you think you could sign the book? She loves your songs, so…’

Sansa shook her head and rummaged through the bottom left drawer of her desk until she found the postcard depicting the scene of six maids in a pool from the film and handed that to him instead. In a neat handwriting on the back, Jeyne Westerling had written the message she’d asked for in better days: _Let us grow up gentle and brave and strong_. A year later, they girl had been forced to starve herself, for her naturally wide hips made her look too old to play a thirteen-year-old in _The Wizard of Essos_.

‘Here, have this,’ she said, dropping it into the bag for him, then added, as he might not know Jeyne by name, ‘Jeyne Westerling voiced Jonquil and sang the songs.’

He shifted, as if looking for something more to say. ‘Would you like to come to the party?’

‘Send me the details,’ she said before he could take it back. ‘I sent you my number on bBay.’

That night, as she folded her dress away into her dry cleaning pile, her phone pinged, and for once, it wasn’t Harry’s aubergine that graced her screen. Instead, it was a picture of a very pink and very sparkly party invite with a time and an address.

_Nori’s party is starts at 1pm on Saturday. Let me know if you’re still free to come. Sandor_

Sandor. She smiled at that. He was no longer just a hound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve updated the fic description and tags as the plot’s become clearer. 
> 
> This chapter’s fashion item is Sophia Webster’s Bibi Butterfly shoes: https://www.sophiawebster.com/product/76/bibi-butterfly
> 
> List of real references if people are interested:  
> \- bBay: real world equivalent is pretty obvious; stands for blackwaterBay  
> \- True Gold is named after True Blue  
> \- Dany’s debut, burnt hair moment (I know it’s book only) and conservatorship is influenced by Britney  
> \- Varyz is named after Perez  
> \- Vale 17 is named after East 17 – look at those Vale-level snowflake effects in their ‘Stay Another Day’ video! (Vale 17’s greatest rival boyband is Westerlife)  
> \- Visenya’s Secret is named after Victoria’s Secret
> 
> Money-wise, I’m using roughly £1 to every gold dragon…
> 
> Sandor’s not so angry in this fic because his sister is alive, and this is the post QI version, as it were. Also, due to Sansa’s initial confusion, she’s hugged him, looked straight at him, smiled at him and bought him chicken so far. Incoming anger in the next chapter, though not directed at Sansa.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa does a lot of thinking and goes to a children’s birthday party.   
> Please note: as it’s an extreme AU, Sweetrobin and Shireen have been made the same age as Nori. Other child characters will include Ramsay, some Freys, Royces etc.

Sansa stared at the dresses laid out on her bed that Saturday morning and decided that she had nothing to wear. What did you wear to a seven-year-old girl’s birthday party? Should she go down the princess route and put on something with pink lace? No, it wouldn’t do to clash with the birthday girl. Or… perhaps Sandor had invited her as a children’s entertainer of some sort? She _was_ in entertainment after all, though she was no good at telling jokes, and only mediocre at making balloon animals. Maybe she should dress like an entertainer? But in case that wasn’t the case, turning up in motley was probably not the best of ideas. That, and she didn’t own any motley.

In the end, she laid out the four plain dresses she owned in a circle, spun herself with her eyes closed and picked up the one she stumbled onto: a white, three-quarter sleeve shirt dress with rose gold buttons. She wound her hair up into a simple bun and picked out her feather heart earrings in a matching rose gold. Father had given these to her for her thirteenth birthday, the first piece of jewellery she’d received from him. Putting them on made her feel girlish and grown-up at the same time, though she shuddered at the memory of the talk that had accompanied the gift.

‘Sansa, Arya, do you know what this is?’ Father had asked after they’d sat down in his study.

It was a faded fake ID with Aunt Lyanna’s photo on it, though the name said L.T. Knight.

‘Your Aunt Lyanna used this to when we took her to Harrenhal Fes for the first time. She managed to be selected to meet Rhaegar backstage. It was only the once, but it got Rhaegar convicted of statutory rape, and your aunt died in childbirth. Make sure you use protection. I’m going to show you how to put on a condom.’ He’d shown them by rolling it onto a gun, because you could also die from what a man had down there.

‘Although even protection might not prevent you from these.’ He’d said, pressing a button to pull up a slideshow of STIs on the large projector behind him. He’d placed a snazzy slide transition effect on the presentation, so that giant blistered man-parts and lady-parts flew out from all directions to assault their eyes, and he’d highlight particularly horrible parts with a laser pointer. ‘Genital herpes.’

‘Maybe I should join the Silent Sisters,’ Arya had said afterwards. ‘What are you going to do? You want kids…’

‘There’s always artificial insemination.’

The talk had been the only thing that’d stopped her putting out for Joffrey, for he’d laughed at genital herpes when she’d brought it up. Nobody should laugh at genital herpes.

Her phone jingled with a retro-sounding Y-pop synth intro that she’d come to like.

‘Sansa!’ Her best friend and agent Jeyne Poole’s voice shrilled over the phone. ‘You know that creepy piano song you wrote when you were still going out with Joff?’

‘Uh… Which one?’ Because there were a few. Joffrey had a way of bring out her creepy piano side.

‘The one that made me, like, _oh my gods_ _break up with him now_! The “you’re not a king from a period drama” one.’

‘Oh… that one…’ She had a soft spot for that one, but it was never going to be a hit in Westeros, never going to be the breakout song she craved. The Westerosi chart had gone tropical. Once upon a time, when all she’d known was Winterfell, she’d fancied herself a southron at heart. Now she knew better. Her heart was out of synch with beats that were made for dancing in clubs, lounging on beaches and raving at Harrenhal Fes; she’d never felt less like herself than she had recording those demos about ladies shaking their behinds and drinking ‘til the sun comes up.

‘It’s been bought by a singer who’s apparently quite famous in Yi Ti! I’ve been talking to her record label, and they want to use it as a lead single. Anyway, I’m going to send you a message with the deets, but oh my gods, it’s actually sold! You were right. There’s some weird stuff going on in Y-pop.’

So it was with a spring in her step that Sansa whirled into a dragon cab and asked the driver to take her to the Dragonpit. After all, it just wouldn’t do to turn up to a party empty handed. Nice boutiques had sprung up around the area, and there was sure to be something for the birthday girl. Nori’s party invitation was pink. So a jewellery making kit, perhaps. Or a personalised bangle. Origami fairy lights? Hair chalks? Mood rings, ballet bags, decorate-your-own-pony sticker books? Gifts she’d never had a chance to buy before, because her only sister was merely two years younger, and a tomboy at that.

They rounded a corner, and a billboard of the athlete Oberyn Martell lying on a Dornish beach, showing off his lithe and chiselled body, gold Oakenseat medals and a luxury Braavosi watch came into view. Arya must have told it true then. The Dornish doping scandal must be coming to a close, and Oberyn would be set to grace the Games again.

She glanced out of the other window, and found a full-sized billboard of Gregor Clegane, with his tribal tattoo of three hounds snaking down the his left temple, wearing nothing but his boxing gloves and a pair of shorts from Leon’s latest collection. Sansa stared at the L tick and the silhouette of the running lion and felt sick. Here was another sports star set to return to the Games, but much, much worse. It seemed only yesterday when he’d bitten off the ear of Hugh de Vale in a fight, then been convicted of raping a girl a few months after, but he’d already regained his heavyweight championship titles and his advertising contracts.

When she’d phoned her sister to express her concern, Arya had simply laughed and told her not to worry. ‘I’ll be housed with other Northern athletes, and he’ll be with the Westermen. We won’t even cross paths.’

The dragon cab screeched to a stop. ‘Here all right?’

‘Yes, thank you!’

Two hours later, she had made a shortlist of twenty eight possible items to buy, and sat down at a café to go through the pros and cons of each. She wanted to buy them all! Buy, buy, buy! But… that’d be a bit much. Actually, would it be a bit much anyway? She hadn’t even met the girl, really, and she’d already given away some Florian and Jonquil goods. What if she bought something too expensive? Sandor might not accept, seeing as he’d even mentioned paying for the extra Florian and Jonquil items she’d thrown in. With a sigh, she crossed off all twenty eight possibilities and pouted. By the Maiden, she loved giving gifts. There was nothing like seeing someone’s face light up as they unwrapped something personal, thoughtful and _perfect_ that she’d picked. But it was not to be. Instead, she’d buy a card, some helium balloons and cake. Not a birthday cake, because the girl would most likely have one already, but some cupcakes. But what if Nori had food allergies? What if… What if…

‘Is that one really nut-free, gluten-free, wheat-free, dairy-free, egg-free and sugar-free?’ Sansa asked the girl behind the counter in the cake shop, two pink and sparkly helium balloons tied to her wrist.

‘Yes miss. Would you like a box?’

Sansa nodded. The box was a jade green, and the girl tied a box of four together with a cherry blossom ribbon. She balanced it carefully on her knee as she gave her second dragon cab of the day the address on the invite, which… as they approached and slowed outside what looked like a junkyard… must be wrong.

A carcass of a military jeep sat next to a pile of half-worn wheels and what looked like the belt off of a tank. Behind them sat a warehouse with rusting metal shutters. Tucked in at the back squatted a square concrete house with small square windows.

‘This has to be it,’ said the driver. ‘There’s nothing else around here.’

He was right. They’d gone quite a way out from Old King’s Landing, through what was the newly developed western tech and financial district, out to the nicer parts of suburbia, before the detached period houses disappeared to be replaced by large signs saying _Plumb Planet_ and _Tobho’s Steel_.

‘You’d better take my number, miss, because no cab’s going to pass by here.’

If Arya was here she’d tell Sansa not to bother, because this was obviously where people came to be murdered.

‘Yes please, thank you,’ she said, then floated out of the cab with her pink balloons.

Before she’d even touched her knuckles to the front door for the second time, the door flew open to reveal a girl as small as her brother was large, though with the same dark hair and grey eyes. Sandor stood behind her, and his eyes widened at the sight of her. Oh. He hadn’t expected her to actually turn up. All of a sudden, Joffrey’s voice was in her head again, calling her _stupid, stupid, stupid_ , because this wasn’t the north, _you idiot_ , where the climate was colder but people were warmer. _When people invite you over in King’s Landing, they are just being polite, Sansa. Haven’t you ever heard of lip service? Not that you ever do me much service with your lips._

Then, ‘Sansa?’ said the birthday girl, smoothing down her pink ballet skirt. ‘You’re here! Sandi’s told me all about you!’

‘No I haven’t,’ he said.

‘Are these for me?’ she said, grabbing the balloons, cake, card and Sansa. ‘They’re so pretty! Come and sit down! You’re the first one here! What do you want to drink? We have orange juice, apple juice, squash and lemonade. Look, there’s Foolish! And I’ve framed the postcard. It’s in my room. I’m so glad you’re here. Sandi never lets me meet any of his friends.’

‘Not true,’ he said.

‘All right, except for Jaimie and Brienne and Balon and Arys and Tobho and Gendry.’

‘That’s all of them.’

‘But you say they’re not your friends!’

‘They’re not,’ he said, settling a glass of lemonade in front of Sansa. There were pink flamingos on the glass.

Now that she was sat at their dining table, a simple white thing where the veneer had started to peel from the MDF below at one corner, she could find little traces of him in the house. The kitchen tiles had been plastered with ballerina stickers. The ceiling lampshade was a circle of butterflies and dragonflies. She recognised that one. It was Wolffe’s Räya lampshade, named after a historical Stark, as was Wolffe’s tradition ever since their ancestor Brandon the Builder founded the ready-to-assemble furniture brand. Now that she was looking for it, she recognised the shelves at the back too. They were from the Hårlan range.

Tables had been set up towards the sides, filled with sandwiches, sweets, cakes and yards of pink tulle. She wondered if Sandor had baked the cakes. Her balloons had been placed at the centre, looking quite at home, and Foolish stood to the side.

There, in his snug-fitting military green t-shirt and camo trousers, he looked utterly out of place.

‘Sandi! My hair’s fallen out again…’

‘Oh for f… goodness sake.’

The messy ballerina bun that’d been pinned to the top of Nori’s head tumbled down, and something leathery and round fell onto the floor.

‘Is that… a knob from a clutch?’ said Sansa.

‘How else are you supposed to make a bun?’ said Sandor. He was holding a sparkly pink hairbrush with Jonquil on the back, though it looked like a toy in his large hands.

‘Let me try?’ she said, extracting a few spare bobby pins from her handbag and her emergency hairspray. ‘Do you want a large bun or a smaller one wrapped in a braid?’

‘You can make it with a braid?’ said Nori.

Sansa brushed out her hair. It came down to the middle of her back. ‘Whatever you want, princess.’

The girl grinned then, and again when Sansa had pinned the ends of the braid into the bun and showed her the results in the mirror. ‘It looks amazing! You’re so good at doing hair! Can you make Sandi’s hair look nice too?’

Sandor, who was lining up goodie bags for their expected guests, froze. ‘I don’t think–’

‘Come on, sit there!’ said Nori, and Sandor padded after her like a dog after his mistress. ‘Can you make it nice, Sansa?’

Sansa wasn’t sure how she was supposed to do that, as it looked nice enough to her. His long, dark hair brushed past his shoulders, and felt clean, though a little dry. It was so nice to run her fingers through a man’s hair and not come away coated in hair gel. She was wondering whether he used plain shampoo, and if so whether his hair would feel softer with 2-in-1 when his shoulders tensed.

‘Sorry,’ she said.

‘Seven hells, what have you got to apologise for this time?’ he rasped.

‘Did I snag your hair?’

‘No, it’s not…’ He sighed and ran a hand across his scars. ‘Spare me a little, all right? Don’t give me a bloody ballerina bun.’

Sansa grinned at that. Sadly he didn’t have enough hair for that, as it grew thinner on the burnt side. ‘If half the male ballerinas are as tall as you, I might have had a chance,’ Sansa said, trying to brush his hair back so that it didn’t cover half his face, but when she went to tuck it behind his ear, she realised anew that the ear was gone. She tucked it into a messy man-bun at the back with one of her hair ties.

‘Are you a ballerina then?’ said Nori.

‘I took classes until I was sixteen,’ she said. Thirteen was when she had her growth spurt and her first dream was crushed. She’d never be a pro. ‘Then I grew too tall, and none of the boys could lift me…’ She stood up and grabbed Nori around the waist… ‘…like… this!’

She spun the girl around the room the way that Bran liked to be spun, and she giggled the same way Bran used to giggle. Rickon liked it too, though he preferred to be swung up and up and up like a rocket. Gods, she missed her baby brothers.

It was only voices at the door that made Sansa set the girl down.

‘I can’t believe they live here,’ came a woman’s voice through the too-thin front door. ‘This hardly looks respectable. We shouldn’t allow Shireen to be friends with this kind of riff-raff.’

‘For goodness sake woman, it’s Shireen’s best friend you’re talking about. I’ll not have you call her riff-raff,’ a man spat out.

‘The girl doesn’t even have a mother, and I say–’

‘I haven’t had a mother since I turned fourteen, so you will say nothing, woman,’ said the man, and rapped on the door.

Sandor made no attempts to move, and when Sansa turned to face him, she found his mouth pressed in a thin line and his eyes hard and angry.

 _Doesn’t even have a mother_. Those words were familiar enough. Children could be cruel, but adults should know better. She bent down and rubbed away the frown that had formed between Nori’s brows, as Father used to do for their cousin Jon.

There came another bout of knocking, and still Sandor did not move.

‘Shall I get it?’ said Sansa. Perhaps she could trip the horrible woman when she opened the door.

Sandor shook himself then and rubbed his face again. He looked so tired. Had he woken up extra early bake all the cakes and put up the decorations?

The horrible woman strode in, tall, thin and severe with more of a moustache than Joffrey had ever managed. The not-so-horrible man followed, tall and broad and equally severe, with hollow cheeks and grim blue eyes. A little girl hid behind his legs, staring at Sansa nervously, though she seemed to pay no mind to Sandor. Half her face was cracked and stony, no doubt from greyscale, and her ears stuck out like an elf’s.

‘Hi Shireen,’ said Nori.

Shireen’s face lit up when she caught sight of her friend. ‘Happy birthday!’ she said, and handed Nori a small box in red wrapping paper. ‘This is for you, and… Mother has a present for you as well.’

The horrible woman sniffed and stuffed a large red book into Sandor’s hands. On it was a golden picture of a flame with _Ways of R'hllor_ engraved at the top.

Before Sandor could smack the woman on the head with _Ways of R’hllor_ , which surely he was itching to do, because Sansa certainly was, the screeching of tyres drew everyone’s eyes to the yard outside. A slick silver retro car that had a round and friendly face like an eel and an open roof spun towards the house, kicking up a cloud of dust behind it. In it, a child was squeaking in a high-pitched voice, ‘Make me fllllyyyy!!!’

Out stepped a plump woman with a shade of auburn that she usually associated with Mother. The hot pink velour tracksuit that hugged her curves clashed with the orange of her fake tan, and the large brown leather bag that she carried in the crook of her elbow was awash with monograms.

If Sansa thought Nori was small, the boy that clambered out of the other side of the car was tiny. His thin brown fringe stopped just above his thick-lensed glasses, and he was clutching a doll that looked a bit like Nori.

‘Eleanoooorrrrr!!! Happy birthday. Oh hi there Shireen. Mother, look, there’s cake! Can I have some cake?’

‘No cake, Sweetrobin,’ said the boy’s mother. ‘I told you we’re trying to cut out gluten and wheat for your health.’

Sweetrobin’s face scrunched up, but before the wail escaped his mouth, Sansa slid forth with her free-from-everything cupcakes. _Never fear, Sansa’s here._ Perhaps she was always meant to be the fairy godmother from fairy-tales and songs, and not the princess.

‘ _You!_ ’ said Sweetrobin’s mother. ‘ _Sansa?_ ’

Sansa was fairly sure that her driving licence was safely tucked away in her handbag this time.

‘It _must_ be you. Oh my. You’re a splitting image of myself when I was younger. What are you doing here? Come here, Sweetrobin. This is your cousin Sansa. Fancy meeting you here!’

‘Aunt… Lysa?’

‘You know each other?’ said Sandor.

‘We’ve never actually met in person,’ she said.

‘No,’ said Aunt Lysa, ‘but really, what _are_ you doing here? Cat never told me that I’ve become a great-aunt.’

‘Oh no… It’s… I’m just here because…’ Because she was the previous owner of Foolish? Or Sandor and Nori’s friend? Sansa blushed. She wasn’t sure how to explain it either.

Aunt Lysa glanced at Sandor, then at her, and patted her arm sympathetically. ‘Does your mother know you’re here?’

‘Here specifically?’ Then no, because she was far past the age where she’d need to inform Mother of her every move.

‘I guess she won’t approve, but don’t worry, I understand. You’ll find yourself an ally in me, because really,’ said Aunt Lysa, leaning in so that Sansa’s whole world was filled with her sickly sweet perfume, ‘fuck duty!’ Then her aunt winked at her and giggled like a little girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I don’t hate Lysa, even though she’s crazy…   
> This chapter’s fashion item is these feather heart earrings:  
> https://www.alexmonroe.com/delicate-feather-heart-earrings.html  
> This chapter’s references:  
> \- Y-pop stands for Yi Ti pop  
> \- The retro-feel Y-pop intro that Sansa uses as her ringtone for her agent is K-pop – I Feel You from the Wonder Girls: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V9QXQz6uE0M  
> \- The creepy piano song that Sansa sells is modelled on this C-pop song by Amit (Matriarchy)…  
> There’s a good translation of the lyrics here, and it kind of reminds me of Sansa:  
> http://laopoyeeun.tumblr.com/post/120041774875/fuckyeahchinesefashion-matriarchy-lyrics-%E6%88%91%E4%B8%8D%E4%BC%9A  
> Here’s the video, which is slightly creepy…  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IE-G5W--RhE  
> \- Oakenseat Games is named after Garth Greenhand’s throne, as he organised the alleged first tourney in Westeros; real world equivalent is the Olympics, doping scandal and all  
> \- Oberyn’s watch ad is based on Claude Bernard’s Matt Grevers ad campaign: http://gevrilgroup.com/media/claude-bernard-matt-grevers-ad-campaign/  
> \- Gregor’s facial tattoo and career is inspired by Mike Tyson’s  
> \- The logo for the brand Leon is kind of Nike and Puma combined  
> \- Wolffe is like IKEA in the real world  
> \- Lysa’s car is a Jaguar Eagle E-type… She wears Juicy Couture and carries an LV monogram Speedy
> 
> Next up is the second half of the party, where no one else turns up, followed by a visit from Aunt Lysa. Sansa contemplates waging war on the Boltons (a science teacher at Nori’s school and his unpleasant son).


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party part 2. Sweetrobin stands up for Nori. Sansa gets war council from Catelyn. Bubblies at the ready…

The clock ticked past two. If anyone else was due to turn up, then they were an hour late already. Sansa had been to a lot of children’s birthday parties in her life, and she knew full well that had it been Rickon’s or Bran’s party, the hall would be filled with children by now.

She sat with the adults at the dining table, where the grim-looking man whom she’d come to know as Stannis gulp down mineral water as if he was swallowing whiskey instead, and Aunt Lysa glared daggers at the horrible woman that she now knew as Selyse. She couldn’t blame Aunt Lysa; she’d seen the way Selyse’d rolled her eyes at Aunt Lysa’s outfit and muttered, ‘ _Nouveau riche_.’ She’d wanted to tell the woman that no, Aunt Lysa was a Tully, and Tullys had been a frozen food mogul for generations; everyone recognised Captain Blackfish on those fish finger boxes. But Aunt Lysa had given her a subtle shake of the head, in the same way as she’d shaken her own head when Aunt Lysa had looked at the Wolffe lampshade and said to Sansa, ‘Bet you feel quite at home here.’ True ladies did not go around boasting about their heritage.

Which was what Sansa thought Selyse was trying to do when the woman slid a gold gilt-edged 400gsm business card with matt cello glazing towards her. Then she read the card. _Selyse Florent,_ _Baratheon & Florent LLC, Divorce Lawyer._

‘We handled Robert Baratheon’s divorce from Cersei Lannister,’ said Selyse, throwing Sandor a look of disgust. ‘We can give you a discount.’

‘Thanks, but I’m not married,’ said Sansa, pushing the card back.

‘Even better,’ said the hateful woman, shoving the card back in her hand. ‘Should you ever need us–’

‘Oops,’ said Aunt Lysa, catching the card mid-pass and tearing it in two. ‘These things are so flimsy. Have you ever considered using metal instead? They are so much more durable,’ she said, and extracted a leather business card holder encrusted with crystals. Inside was a flashy chrome business card with a cut-out of a falcon. It simply said, _Lysa Arryn_ , _Mother_.

‘I’m going to get more cake,’ said Sansa, trying to steer the conversation away from immediate confrontation. ‘The lemon drizzle cake is delicious. Lemon cakes are my favourite! Does anyone else want any?’

When no one replied, Sandor stood up as well. ‘I’m just going to check on Nori.’

Sansa grabbed another two pieces of lemon drizzle cake, though there was still so much left. From the number of goodie bags lined up by the table, they must have been expecting at least fifteen others.

‘This isn’t what you expected, is it?’ said Sandor. ‘Bet you wish you’d never come.’

‘I…’ That was both true and untrue, because, well… ‘I can’t pretend to wish for Selyse’s presence, and I definitely didn’t expect to meet my aunt and cousin for the first time at your house, but I’m so glad I’ve met them. And you and Nori too. I’ve been in King’s Landing for eight years, you know, and I’ve only made two true friends, and one of them, Jeyne, is a childhood friend from the north.’

He raised his good brow at that. Thinking about it, she found it hard to believe too. Sansa _liked_ people. She’d always liked people. But she’d liked Joffrey more, which was where it had all fallen apart. ‘My ex was, well, he thought he was a big deal, so he wanted to me to be friends with only people he approved… except of all the people he approved…’ She shuddered at the memory. ‘…not one of them did I want as a friend.’

Somehow they found themselves sat on the stairs. It was a colder here, out of the reach of the warming sun, so she huddled a little closer to Sandor and picked at the second slice of lemon cake. ‘This cake really is amazing. Shame on them for missing out. Did you make it?’

‘ _I am the Winged Knight!_ ’ came Sweetrobin’s voice from upstairs. ‘ _I am here to rescue Princess Shireen! Surrender, fair monster, and I shall spare you!_ ’

Sandor sighed, and it was as if his anger had been the only thing holding him up, for as it left him, his shoulders slumped, and Sansa hated it almost as much as she hated him angry. ‘Aye,’ he rasped, ‘I tried out a few recipes. You can take some slices home if you like. We’ll never finish it all.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Sansa. ‘It’s their l–’

‘Don’t.’

‘What–’

‘Don’t chirp that meaningless shit at me. It’s not their loss. It’s mine. I’ve failed her, and I… Fuck. I wish I could go back and make everything right. I should have booked one of those fancy party venues, but Nori said she’d like it here, and I… I was relieved, believe it or not, because we’re not doing that well this month. But she must have known that. What a fucking idiot I was. I should have booked it anyway. Found a way to make it work. If I could go back, I… Well… Maybe that’s not even going back far enough. I don’t even know how far back I’d need to go. See, I had some savings once, but I blew most of it fixing my leg and my life after properly fucking everything up. And… I bet you were a straight A student, weren’t you?’ he said all of a sudden. ‘Bet you used to write your notes in different colours.’

To be honest, Sansa still did. She had a notebook containing songs she’d listened to and what she’d learned from each, coded by both pen and highlighter colour. Particularly important notes were labelled with sticky puppy page markers in white, brown, grey and black. Three years ago, after their annual family get-together, she’d found the page markers swapped with customised ones of Robb and Theon in different coloured bikinis, courtesy of Arya. Which was not something that Sansa wanted to bring up with Sandor right now. She wanted to tell him that he wasn’t an idiot, that he was already doing his best, that none of this was his fault, but perhaps that’d all be meaningless chirping to him, so instead, she took one of his hands in both of hers and gave it a squeeze. ‘I… was pretty bad at maths,’ she said.

He chuckled softly at that, which was better. ‘I dropped out of school first chance I got. Wish I could go back now, get myself a fancy degree, a fancy job and a fancy house for her. I hope she’ll grow up clever like you.’

Clever. The word felt foreign after all those years. She turned towards him, but she’d sat on his scarred side, the side that gave so little away, and his eyes rested on his hand, where she held him still. There was no hint of mockery there. She drew a shaky breath and said, ‘She’ll grow up into a much better person than me.’ That was no empty courtesy; that was a promise.

‘ _Can we cut the big cake now?_ ’ came Sweetrobin’s voice again. ‘ _I know I can’t eat it, but I want to see you make your wish!_ ’

Footsteps fell at the top of the stairs, and Sansa scrambled up.

‘Can’t we wait a bit longer?’ said Nori. ‘The others haven’t arrived yet.’

‘They aren’t coming,’ said Sweetrobin.

‘But–’

‘Just ask Shireen if you don’t believe me. She knows.’

There was shuffling at the top of the stairs, then Shireen’s voice came, small and sad. ‘It’s my fault. It’s because you’re friends with me, so Ramsay said… he said… if anyone else comes to the party, they’ll catch the uglies. He told everyone not to come.’

‘See?’ said Sweetrobin. ‘They’re not coming. I wasn’t supposed to come either, but Mother said I’m the best looking boy in the world, so I don’t care if I lose part of my face. And… and I’m not afraid of Ramsay and his boys... or his girls.’

‘You should just stop being friends with me,’ said Shireen.

‘No,’ said Nori. ‘Let’s cut the cake.’

‘Yay! Finally! Do you know what you’re going to wish for yet?’

‘I want someone nice and–’

‘Shhhh!!! You can’t tell anyone until it comes true!’

*

That afternoon, when Aunt Lysa offered her a lift home, she asked Sweetrobin all about his school, about Ramsay, whose father Mr Bolton was a teacher at the school, whose new mother was a Frey.

When she got home, she phoned Mother. _How did turn things around for Jon? Because… because…_

_Oh Sansa, it’s easier just to get your friend to pull her daughter out of that school. You can do everything and still not make much of a difference if the school isn’t doing enough to help, you know?_

_And what’s everything, Mother?_

Step one: engage the as many members of staff through unofficial channels as possible, if the official ones aren’t working. She messaged the second friend she’d made at King’s Landing, her old harp teacher Leonette Fossoway, and asked to move their coffee date forward.

Step two: identify any factions among parents, mainly mothers; bring them onto her side, using whatever means necessary. She only had one name so far. With a sigh, she logged onto Facelessbook and scrolled through hundreds of Freys in King’s Landing before she found a chubby one married to a Bolton. Walda Frey. Her wispy blonde hair was brushed back in her profile picture, and she wore a cheek-to-cheek smile and a baby-pink yoga outfit. Sansa scrolled through her groups and interests, and found a message in the King’s Landing Fertility Yoga group. _My pelvis feels so much more open after the last class! Can’t wait to see you next week!_

She took down the number on the group’s homepage and pressed call before she could change her mind.

‘Hello? Hi, I found your class online, and I’d like to join the class… the… the fertility one. Yes. Yes. Is there still… Oh, still a few spaces left? That’s great! How do I sign up?’

*

Jeyne Poole looked all business as she strode through the restaurant where they’d arranged to meet for Monday lunch. Her grey pinstripe suit was impeccably cut, accentuating her waist, and she’d brushed her hair back into a high ponytail. She looked around, worrying her bottom lip, and broke into a smile as soon as she spotted Sansa at the corner table.

‘Hey,’ she said, flagging down a waitress, ‘can you upgrade us to a bigger table? Someone else is joining us.’

‘Someone else?’ said Sansa.

‘It’s a surprise! You’re going to love it.’

‘Guy or girl?’

Jeyne wrinkled her nose. ‘Too busy selling your songs, aren’t I? Now if you’ll stop writing them, we’d both get a chance at romance.’

‘And both be thrown out onto the streets.’

‘Oh don’t worry, we’ll always be welcome in the Freyboy mansion.’

Sansa gagged at that. The Frey of Freyboy fame was definitely no boy. She still remembered his toothless leer and the way that his weasel-like face always hovered too close to her own. _Hello lovelies,_ he’d said, staring at Jeyne’s cleavage while his hand had wondered to Sansa’s behind. _Would the two of you like to become Freygirls? I can make you very popular._ She hoped that her Walda Frey was no relation to the creepy old man.

‘I think I’d rather live on the streets,’ she said.

‘But,’ said Jeyne, whipping out a blue binder from her leather satchel and handing Sansa a plastic sleeve, ‘with this, we won’t have to.’

It wasn’t the particulars for the Y-pop song she’d sold, like she expected, but a Bael the Bard Studios proposal. _The Bear and the Maiden Fair_ , it said. Well, they were running pretty short on stories to adapt after all. There was talk that they’d soon commission a live-action remake of _Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight_. And if they were desperate enough, they’d make films about the other five maids in the pool.

‘I know you’re focusing on breaking into pop at the mo, but this is, you know, really you… They like your portfolio, and they’re interested in having a chat. The same guy is looking for a song or two for _Wizards of the Water Gardens_ for Sarella Sand’s character, Alleras Sphinx. Something pop-rocky. Convince him you’re right for that as well? What do you think?’

She thought that if she went any further down this path, she’d be pigeonholed as a songwriter for films and musicals, and she’d never had a pop hit to prove Joffrey wrong, but… but did she only want a pop hit to prove Joffrey wrong? Sometimes she thought she didn’t want another flat that didn’t feel like home, another career that didn’t feel like hers.

‘Think about it and let me know by Wednesday,’ said Jeyne.

The bell tinkled and a girl with an auburn bob and dark skinny jeans walked in. Something about her looked a little familiar. Jeyne stood up at once and waved at her.

She squealed as she laid eyes on Sansa. ‘Oh my gods! Sansa! It has been tooooo long!’

‘Beth?’ It was unmistakeably Beth Cassel, the daughter of Father’s chief designer, Rodrik. Another friend from Winterfell in King’s Landing. Another piece of home. ‘Oh my gods, it really has been too long! You look amazing! Why didn’t you tell me you’re coming?’

‘Jeyne said you’re a big time composer nowadays, and she can’t just hand out your number to _anyone_.’

‘Liar, liar, pants on fire!’ said Jeyne.

‘All right, all right… I wanted to be a surprise, so in case you don’t remember me anymore, I can slink off with my dignity intact.’

‘Wait… who are you again? Why are you trying to sit at our table? Go and find your own.’

Beth slapped Sansa on the arm.

‘But seriously,’ said Sansa, ‘what are you doing here? Last I heard you were working near the Dreadfort. Set design or production, wasn’t it?’

‘She’s here to join our singles club,’ said Jeyne.

Beth groaned at that. ‘That, and to die a painful death.’

‘Don’t die at our table please,’ said Sansa. ‘We’re just about to have lunch. What do you want? They’ve got a set menu for lunch. Here.’

‘You guys have been in King’s Landing much longer than I have,’ said Beth, flicking her eyes over the menu. ‘Do you know where to get my hands on some fake military vehicles to blow up? Mmm… The fish looks good. Is the fish any good?’

‘Better than it is at Winterfell, that’s for sure,’ said Sansa. ‘They’re pretty fresh from the bay. Why do you need to blow things up?’

‘Stress relief,’ said Jeyne.

‘In that case, sign me up,’ said Sansa.

‘Ughhh… It’s the source of my stress at the moment!’ said Beth. ‘I’m working on a film about the war, and it took, like, _forever_ to negotiate with the army to use some of their old tanks and stuff for filming. There are a couple of cars that need to be blown up in a few scenes, and we’d agreed to use miniatures and CG, but now they’re like, no, they want it all realistic, so they want two or three repurposed ones to film in by, like, yesterday.’

‘Have you checked online?’ said Jeyne.

Beth rolled her eyes. ‘No, I’ve just been praying to the Maiden that something will appear magically on my desk all morning.’

‘Wait,’ said Sansa, thinking back to the military jeep, or at least what looked like one to her, in Sandor’s front yard. She still didn’t know what he did for a living, but it had more to do with cars than her job for sure. ‘Maybe I can ask someone.’

‘If you find me something, I swear I’ll marry you and have your children.’

‘Ewww,’ said Jeyne. ‘A brood of gingers.’

Sansa and Beth slapped her on the arm at the same time.

*

Step three in Mother’s win-them-over masterplan had been taken out of her hands.

It was late in the afternoon, and instead of the next Westerosi smash hit, she found herself banging out a song about growing up on her piano. She was playing the recording back, pacing back and forth in her home studio, when the entrance phone buzzed. And buzzed. And buzzed.

‘Sansa! Open up!’ Aunt Lysa shrieked. The video feed offered a close-up of Aunt Lysa’s tonsils.

Her aunt marched in and shoved Sweetrobin into her arms.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘How dare they!’ Her chin wobbled with rage. ‘They hurt my sweet, sweet, baby and called him a liar! Sansa you’ve got to put it right.’

Sweetrobin raised his head, and she saw that there was dirt in his hair and a graze on his left cheek.

‘What happened?’ Though she feared that she could guess.

‘Ramsay was being horrible,’ said Sweetrobin, ‘but I helped! I was brave, wasn’t I Mother?’

‘Yes, my sweet, strong boy. You were so, so brave.’

‘I told them not to call Eleanor seaweed! And I said you can’t catch the uglies off her because she’s getting a mother who’s much prettier than Ramsay’s.’

‘Sister-in-law,’ corrected Aunt Lysa.

‘I… What?’

‘Sansa dear,’ said her aunt, ‘I’m on your side, and I know you’re probably worried about making things so public, but I will _not_ have them call my baby a liar. You’re going to stand outside the school gates tomorrow and pick up your little girl. You’re going to show them what’s what! And here, you’ll need this.’

Aunt Lysa shoved a small red leather box into her hands. She snapped open the lid and found a vintage rose-gold ring staring back at her. There was a round diamond in the middle, surrounded by some elegant wave patterns that gave the ring character, but didn’t make it look overly flashy.

‘That was my dream engagement ring when I was a girl,’ said Aunt Lysa. ‘They wouldn’t let me marry the man of my dreams, but they couldn’t stop me buying the ring. It won’t fit me anymore. You might as well have it.’

It fit perfectly.

*

That evening, she put on her dark blue mini dress with black lace swallow appliqués that she’d bought with her first pay cheque. It was a shorter than what she usually went for, and figure-hugging too, but she needed a little hugging to give her courage right now.

She ticked off the items on her to-bring list one by one to calm her nerves. Sandor had sounded a little confused, though not displeased when she’d phoned him earlier to arrange this meeting at his house after Nori’s bedtime. She hoped he’d stay that way by the end of the evening.

As the cab dropped her outside his house, she hopped out and realised that perhaps this dress was not the greatest of choices for what she was planning to do. She practised a lunge in front of his door. No. Not good. It was riding up on her thigh and she was ninety percent sure that her underwear, a nice one from Visenya’s Secret this time, was on display from behind. She should have worn some tights at least! But when she turned around, the cab was already gone.

‘The Maiden save me,’ she muttered, and sent him a text.

_Outside your door. Didn’t want to knock and wake Nori!_

He ushered her in quickly enough, to the cheap white dining table that was starting to feel more like home than her own, made of solid ash.

‘Explain,’ he said.

‘I’m… looking for these,’ she said, handing him the list of vehicles that Beth had requested.

He narrowed his eyes at those. ‘What has this got to do with how Nori’s been behaving today?’

Ah, yes, that was why he’d agreed to see her in the first place. To discuss why Nori had been acting weird after school today. Not to discuss jeeps and whatever else. ‘It’s… that’s something separate altogether. I thought… I thought you might know, but don’t worry if not, it’s not important really, and…’ And Sansa was really nervous. Really very nervous indeed. She hadn’t been so nervous since… forever really.

‘I… well… Why do you need a helicopter propeller on one of those?’ he said.

‘No idea. A friend of mine is trying to blow them up.’

He raised his good brow at that.

‘It’s… um… It’s for a film. Not for fun. I mean, I guess the film is for fun, but she works there doing… stuff… and she needed to source those items otherwise she will die. Not literally, of course, but um… yeah. I think it’s supposed to be a historical fantasy or dystopia or… something. And… uh…’ This was way worse than going up to get her award in front of the crowd.

‘Well, I happen to have the first one restored with a road-legal engine, but the other two will take some time. If she wants a working propeller on the–’

Sansa raised a hand and stopped him, even though it’d bring her closer to her doom. ‘Can I give her your number? Because if you tell me anything more than how many wheels are supposed to go on one of those, you’re wasting your time. I’m so glad you can help though! Can’t believe I’ve found someone who will marry me and have my children… I mean, _her!_ My friend! She said she’ll marry me and have my children if I find someone who can help. Not literally of course, but… figuratively… Because… because…’ She rubbed her hands down her dress and swore in her head. Sugar sugar sugar… Frick. She flopped forward and knocked her forehead against his dining table, then realised that she’d done that in reality, and not just in her head, and stayed down, because she didn’t want to ever face him again.

‘Yes,’ he rasped.

‘Uh…’ What again?

‘Yes,’ he cleared his throat, ‘you can ask your friend to contact me directly. Now, about what happened at school…? Just a wild guess, but looks like it’s hard to talk about.’

‘Aunt Lysa–’

‘I can’t hear what you’re saying if you’re not even moving your mouth and humming into the table.’

She raised her head. He didn’t look about to phone the asylum. With a sigh, she said, ‘You’re going to hate me.’

‘Doubt it. Now out with it.’

So she told him, about Sweetrobin, about Aunt Lysa, about the ring, everything, all the while staring at an old wine stain on the kitchen table, because it made things easier. Marginally. Perhaps. Not really. But it was better than being killed by Aunt Lysa, and… ‘My aunt will actually, literally shove me out of the window if I don’t sort it out and so… that’s why.’

She waited for his response.

Nothing came.

‘Say something,’ she said.

‘Seven hells.’

Right. That was something.

‘I don’t,’ he added.

‘What?’

‘Hate you. I don’t.’

Right! That was positive! That was…

‘I will tell no lies either.’

…to be expected, really, because she’d brought him a mess. She didn’t expect him to agree, really. Not in a million years, really.

‘But I suppose you could come with me tomorrow, if it will get that Bolton cunt to back off. Wear your ring if you want to.’

A million years went by rather quickly. She clasped her hands together and whipped off the five layers of plastic bags that she’d wrapped round the bouquet of red roses she’d bought, and extracted the two champagne flutes from their boxes and a bottle of sparkling water from a cooler.

‘Can I propose now?’ she said.

He blinked at her.

‘I don’t want to wear the ring without a proposal,’ she explained. ‘So can I propose, please?’

It wasn’t too shabby for a fake proposal, even if she did say so herself. She had her roses and a bit of bubbly, like she always dreamed of, and a beautiful ring that meant something. Shame about the lighting, but the most important thing was having someone go down on one knee.

She went down on one knee, tugging at her dress as she did so, and offered the ring to herself. ‘Sandor… I don’t know what your surname is, actually, but… right. Sandor, will you marry me? Please.’

‘Say yes, say yes, say yes…’

They both spun round when they realised that the words weren’t being whispered by her. Nori stood at the bottom of the stairs.

‘Fuck,’ said Sandor.

‘That means yes,’ said Nori with a squeal, eyes wide with excitement. ‘Oh my gods, my wish is coming true! Are you coming to live with us, Sansa? That was amazing, by the way. I’ve never seen a woman propose before! I’m going to propose when I get older.’

‘You’re going back to bed, is what you’re going to do,’ said Sandor.

‘No, _you_ go back to bed, Sandi. And take Sansa with you.’

‘What–’

‘Don’t _what_ me, mister. I know you have to sleep in the same bed if you love each other. Shireen told me. That’s why her mummy and daddy don’t sleep in the same bed.’

‘Fuck,’ said Sandor again.

Sansa would have said the same, if she’d had the courage to, but it wouldn’t be right, especially in front of a child. So she downed her sparkling water in the champagne flute and wished that it was real champagne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter’s fashion item is an Alexander McQueen lace bird jacquard dress from a few seasons back – navy version:  
> https://www.farfetch.com/az/shopping/women/alexander-mcqueen-lace-bird-jacquard-dress-item-10759119.aspx
> 
> This chapter’s references (not many, as it was meant to be one chapter with the previous one, but got too long and clunky):  
> \- Captain Blackfish is the real world’s Captain Birds Eye – prob a European thing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FvDhBV40bVA  
> \- Freyboy/Freygirl is this world’s Playboy/Playgirl  
> \- Bael the Bard Studios is based on Walt Disney Studios  
> \- Wizards of the Water Gardens is named after Wizards of Waverly Place, and the concept is a bit Hannah Montana-esque  
> \- The growing up song is based on When I Grow Up from Matilda the Musical  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=96JDkI2tBhI
> 
> So yeah… Fake relationship is go. Next up: living arrangements. I’m aiming to update in about two weeks or so, before I go on hols and won’t be able to update for some time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A convo in bed.

_Here lies Sansa Stark. May she rest in peace. She had a life, mostly good, sometimes unfortunate, but it was cut short by a long and agonising session of embarrassment._

An hour must have gone past already, and still sleep would not take her, because surely it was waiting for the Stranger to. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to toss and turn, but she had good reason to, because whenever she shared a bed with Arya, things never turned out well. _Stop! Sansa! You’re supposed to stretch your bloody calves in the gym, not in the bed. And stop trying to strangle me. I’m not a pillow or a duvet, you know. I’m a living, breathing being._

Right now, the living, breathing being sleeping in the same bed as her wasn’t Arya, which made things much, much worse. She focused, once more, on conjuring an insurmountable wall between the two of them in addition to the scrunched up bathrobe that Sandor had used as a divider between his half and her half. She could do it. She could train her mind to subconsciously fear crossing the line, so that even in sleep, she’d never as much as move a finger. A wall of ice. Yes. Like the Wall in the north. So terribly cold and so terribly tall. Maybe she could go and visit next time she gave herself a holiday. She deserved a break, especially after tonight. Bran had mentioned backpacking there with his friends from boarding school, though Mother and Father weren’t keen for them to go on their own, but Sansa could offer to take them, and they could cross the Wall at Castle Black and trek from there to–

No! No, no, no… Think insurmountable walls, _not_ about crossing walls.

Things had gone badly enough already after she’d slipped the ring on her own finger, and she’d made several glaring errors as things were, first of which was offering to sleep on the floor. She hadn’t understood his dark chuckle in response until she’d seen his room.

‘Don’t think that’d be physically possible,’ he’d said. Then he’d yanked down the bed, which was hanging off the wall, so that it unfolded across the whole room, sparing only his wardrobe, which was made of canvas. It wasn’t even possible to open the door when the bed was down. It should be against the law for beds to hang off walls, for the mattress to be nothing more than a thick duvet spread on the criss-crossing wires that called itself a bed, for such a big man to live in such a tiny room.

She’d been trying to make her gawking at the size of his room a little less obvious, and in fact trying to work out that if he was to lie down on the floor with his head against one wall, whether he’d be able to touch the other with his toes, when she’d blurted out, ‘So, have you got any makeup remover?’

‘Of course. I have plenty of that stuff lying about. Men like me get proposed to at least twice a week. Best be prepared.’

‘Do you have any olive oil then?’

‘What for? To shake yourself a salad dressing?’

‘To cook my…’ She’d very nearly spat out _face_ , because he’d just needed to say no, he didn’t have any, so why would she explain the oil cleansing method to him? But she caught herself just in time. ‘…self some… eggs. Maybe. If you have any. That you wouldn’t mind sparing, of course. I’ll buy some tomorrow.’

‘You’re hungry?’

She wasn’t. At least not until he’d cooked her a whole fry-up with super crispy bacon and extra hash browns, and she’d wolfed down more than enough for Joffrey to call her fat. But all Sandor had done was attempt to steal a strip of bacon from her plate.

‘Why don’t you fry some for yourself as well?’ She’d pretended to slap his hand away. Well, technically both the bacon and the plate were his, but still.

‘That’s the lot of them, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh…’ So… she’d eaten all their food as well. ‘I’ll… I’ll buy some more tomorrow morning, first thing, and–’

‘Don’t worry about it.’

But how could she not. With a sigh, she returned to the task at hand, and tried to conjure up a wall of fire between them instead. That was better. A green wall of fire would be even better. Wildfire. Yes. Terrifying. No one could cross that.

Except, maybe, a brave knight trying to rescue a princess in a tower. And she’d be too frightened to go with him. She could write songs about that. In fact, a melody came to mind right now, and would not leave her alone. She kept a voice recorder in her bag for moments like these, and right now, her bag dwelled somewhere beneath the foldable bed. Perhaps she could hum it quietly, considering she couldn’t tiptoe out of the room without moving Sandor out of the way.

She rolled a little to the side, and the bed let out a dying croak. She held her breath, but he did not stir, so she wriggled a little closer to the edge.

The light flickered on.

‘Seven hells. What are you doing?’ he rasped. ‘We don’t have to do this. I’ll go sleep on the sofa and come tomorrow morning, I’ll explain everything to–’

‘Sorry!’ she spoke at the same time as him, bolting up to sit cross-legged on the bed. ‘I’m not trying to hurt you!’

‘You?’ He blinked, adjusting to the light. ‘Aye, you sure scare the fuck out of me. Is that why you’re the one scooting off the bed? ‘Cos you think _you_ might hurt _me_? Not the other way round?’

‘But you won’t hurt me,’ she said. She hadn’t known him for long, but somehow of this she was sure. The faded olive-green t-shirt he’d lent her slipped off her shoulder. She straightened it.

‘No, I won’t hurt you.’ He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘So what are you, a secret assassin?’

‘Oh no! Nothing like that! It’s just… Arya always says I’m too aggressive in bed, and–’ And, by the way his mouth twitched, she realised what she’d said. ‘Oh no… Not in that way. I mean, that’s all a big question mark really, and… Arya is my sister! I just mean… She just means I tend to kick people and… stuff… And roll around too much. You know! Starfish across the bed, steal the pillow and… and so on. So… uh… I was just worried about going to sleep and attacking you with my hair or something, like what once happened to Arya, because… apparently my hair had tried to suffocate her in my sleep, and she had to spit some out of her mouth. It was terrible.’

‘I can think of worse things than licking honey off your hair,’ he rasped, and from the way his eyes twinkled, so different from how they were just moments ago, she was sure she’d missed some deeper meaning behind his words. ‘I’ve put this here,’ he added, picking up the bathrobe that he’d used as a separator between them, ‘to draw a line I won’t go past, but if you’re worrying your pretty head over rolling onto my half, then…’ He threw the bathrobe over her head, and it landed by his canvas wardrobe.

‘Are you… sure?’

‘You can peck and claw at me as hard as you like. I won’t mind.’

‘Right. Thank y… Ah.’ The true reason for this disturbance had almost slipped in her mind.

‘What is it now?’

‘I… actually, I wanted to sing.’ She swung her arm down the side of the bed and felt inside her bag until the voice recorder was in her hand.

The corner of his mouth twitched and twitched again. Was he laughing at her?

‘It’s not _that_ weird,’ she said. ‘I just need to get this down before I forget the melody that’s just popped into my head, you see… Before the feeling leaves me, and–’

‘Go on then.’

‘What?’

‘Go on then. Sing.’

She cleared her throat and drew in a deep breath. He was terribly close, which shouldn’t have been a surprise, really, because the room was terribly small. From here, she could see all the cracks and crevices of his scars. She could see a line between his brows, carved by all the times he’d frowned instead of smiled. She could see specks of her own reflection in his steel-grey eyes.

Would he frown at her latest composition? He hadn’t exactly heaped praises on the songs from _Florian and Jonquil_. Would he call her foolish for singing about a knight, for romanticising a night filled with wildfire.

Her throat grew dry and tight, and not just the unborn melody, but every song she had ever known fled from her mind.

‘I… I can’t,’ she said. ‘You’re giving me stage fright.’

‘Want me to leave?’ He turned, and the bed creaked under his weight.

‘No!’ She caught him by the wrist. ‘It’s getting late. We should just… get some sleep.’

At least the sky outside was still dark. They still had time.

A chill wind was blowing, banging against the thin glass windows, and Sansa shivered. He grunted, threw the greater half of his duvet at her and switched off the light.

‘Night little bird.’

In the dark, she burrowed deeper into the scent that was comfortingly him, and her breathing slowed to match his.

The other reason for her tossing and turning did not bother her that night, for she knew that she had not been locked into a room by herself, and for the first time in far too many months, when she dreamed of flying, there was no one to catch her by the foot, no one to shoot her from the skies, and soon she was home, warm, safe and loved.

*

‘Why are you having toast for breakfast?’ said Nori, chewing on her own slice of toast, thickly smeared with butter and marmalade.

Sandor set a mug of breakfast tea in front of Sansa, with just a dash of milk and one sugar, as she’d asked for, and said, ‘Hurry up, you’re going to be late for school.’

‘But… you always have your–’

‘Come on, only two minutes before I throw you in the truck. Finish your milk.’

‘But I don’t like milk. It’s yucky.’

‘You want to stay a short-arse forever?’

‘It’s not _my_ fault that being a short-arse runs in our family. Isn’t that right, Sansa?’ said Nori, sticking her tongue out at her brother. ‘And anyway, _Sansa_ ’s not drinking milk.’

Sandor glared at the girl and slammed a glass of milk in front of Sansa. She hadn’t had to down a glass of milk since Mother had used a similar line on Arya far too many years ago. She wrinkled her nose, clinked her glass against Nori’s, and said, ‘On three?’

*

Sansa had a horrible feeling that she knew what Sandor usually had for breakfast. Her eating enough bacon to feed a grown man for a week was not a dream.

So when he’d dropped off Nori near the school gates with a wave and headed towards her flat in his military-looking truck in a green that was so dark it looked almost black, with wheels up to her thighs, she kept her eye on the shops and cafes rushing past and tried to spot a familiar sign among them.

‘Oh, can we stop near here?’ she said.

‘Still about five minutes to your flat, little bird. You’re not walking it in those,’ he jabbed towards her heels.

‘I just wanted to buy us breakfast,’ she said. ‘Please?’ He seemed to hesitate at that, so she added, ‘I’d like to draw up an action plan for what we’re going to do as well. I was thinking, maybe, we can make a timetable of some sort. What colour would you like? I’d like to be a light blue, but if you want blue, I could change mine to something else. I don’t mind, really.’

He pulled into a parking space.

‘Here close enough?’

She nodded, and led him the Red Fork, a little family café that Arya liked, with a cartoon logo of a red fork running after a very worried-looking piece of cake. They’d driven past it, and she’d seen its _OPEN_ sign fluttering in the wind, so there’d be no chance of repeating the _SHUT HAPPENS_ experience. They didn’t have pretty mugs, and the only thing that decorated their tables were their plain salt and pepper shakers, but Arya had always said that having the best bread and homemade yogurt in King’s Landing made up for all ills. That, and the fact that Sharna and Hot Pie always gave Arya a peanut butter milkshake on the house.

The bell tinkled as she pushed open the door, and Sandor ducked in after her.

‘Sansa!’ cried Sharna, and cocked a brow at Sandor. ‘And… the hair and eyes are the same, but if that’s Arya, then someone from the Oakenseat Games is going to arrest me for what goes into my peanut butter milkshakes.’

‘Hey Sharna,’ said Sansa, and as she spotted a flash of straw-yellow hair from behind the counter that was piled with sourdough breads, muffins and doughnuts, she added, ‘Hello Hot Pie. This is Sandor.’

Hot Pie’s large, watery eyes grew even wider when he took in Sandor’s face, and he froze where he stood, so Sharna waltzed over, grabbed two laminated menus and placed them by a four-seater table where the wall looked newly decorated with a cork pin-board, next to a blackboard with _TODAY’S SPECIALS: EGG TARTS, 100% RYE SOURDOUGH, RAISIN LOAF_.

 _THE WALL OF FAME_ , it said. On it was a photo of a thin man with a weak chin, hand hovering awkwardly around Sharna’s waist. Underneath the photo, Sharna had written, _Famous Westerman, Cleos Frey_. And to the left of that photo…

‘Oh my gods!’ she said with a gasp.

Arya stared out from the photo, wearing her usual resting-wolf-face, as they liked to call it, and an oversized leather jacket. Sharna and Hot Pie knelt in front, caught in the middle of saying cheese. And there Sansa was, all those years ago, wearing a red cross-bust bandage dress that was meant to show off assets she couldn’t really keep back then, because Joffrey liked her thin, with a golden lion necklace, also chosen by Joffrey. There was a too-wide smile plastered on her face that was almost painful to look at now. She’d been so in love back then, hadn’t she? Either answer hurt, because how could she have loved a man like Joffrey? But if she didn’t, then why had she stayed all those years, through the bad times and the worse? _Sansa, you’re acting like a crazy bitch again. I’m going to lock you in until you calm the fuck down. Then the click of a lock, with only the ticking of the clock for company. It was all her fault._

‘ _Future Oakenseat medallist, Arya Stark_ ,’ read Sandor. ‘And present bed-snatcher, Sansa Stark.’

‘It doesn’t say that!’

‘That doesn’t look like you,’ he said, flipping over the menu.

‘No?’

‘No. You’re not wearing feathers.’

‘Feathers?’

He pointed at the swallows on her dress from last night. ‘Always something with wings. Guess you’ve grown into a different person, little bird. Ready to order?’

She nodded. He was right. What did it matter, yes or no? She _had_ grown into a different person, and the Sansa Stark from now could never fall in love with Joffrey Baratheon; the Sansa Stark from now had the strength to leave Joffrey Baratheon. That was enough.

So she ordered eggs benedict for herself, and raspberry waffles and lemon cakes to share, because this Sansa could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for committing sacrilege on the greatest Sansan scenes of all. It just didn’t feel right not to include it, but this fic is not made for properly dark moments, hence the odd remix, as it were… 
> 
> Sandor’s fold-down bed is inspired by a friend’s room from uni years ago. You had to close the door and pull it down over the desk. Everyone visiting had to sit on the bed. Harry Potter had it better, maybe… 
> 
> Sharna, the snarky but loving inn-keep (and Husband) have been borrowed from the Inn of the Kneeling Man near the Red Fork where Hot Pie leaves Arya in the books. Everything is kind of in King’s Landing for this fic.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter took a bit longer to write due to some days spent working from denial to acceptance after reading GRRM’s latest blog post and replies to certain comments… At least that means he’ll probably never get round to killing Sansa, and she can have her happy ending, right, right? Excuse me while I run away to a land of fluff to hide under a giant marshmallow forever.
> 
> Flashback fashion item:  
> \- Gucci’s lion head pendant: https://www.gucci.com/uk/en_gb/pr/jewelry-watches/fashion-jewellery/for-women/necklace-with-lion-head-pendant-p-410673I46018111  
> \- Herve Leger red bandage dress
> 
> Once again, I’ve split this chapter because there were too many things to fit in, so I tried to cut bits and bobs from the bastardised BB scene but then it didn’t work… Coming up for real next time: living arrangements and a first meeting with Walda Frey.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans, and an unexpected visitor.

**Chapter 6**

Sansa didn’t have her favourite set of coloured fountain pens with her, so she had to make-do with her on-the-go set, which contained ink rollerball pens with prints of various breeds of dogs on the cap. Her favourite was the dark grey pen with huskies on the lid, and the light blue that was represented by corgis. Hopefully Sandor wouldn’t pick either of those to represent himself, for they had always been _Sansa’s_ colours. There were other nice colours and canines to be had.

She untied her leather bound notebook and turned to a clean, crisp page in the middle. Pressing down with both hands to make the pages splay more naturally, she looked up at Sandor and said, ‘Do you have any plans of action to mind?’

 _It’s best to let others voice their opinions first_ , Mother had always been fond of saying, _as it’s only polite. Just make sure that you are the one gently steering them to the correct conclusion._

To her detriment, she hadn’t heeded that advice with Joffrey; she’d let Joffrey speak first and do the steering.

Now, she turned the cap on the husky pen round and round, and waited for Sandor’s response.

Instead of sharing his plans with her, he barked a laugh and said, ‘How many of those bloody colouring pens do you have?’

‘They’re not colouring pens! They’re rollerball pens, and I’ve got eleven,’ she said. They fit perfectly in the silver tin she used to carry them in. ‘There’s a pen for every colour in the rainbow, and then there’s pink, a goldish brown, a dark silvery grey, and one in black.’

‘You were going to draw a timetable with those, were you?’

‘Yes,’ she said, picking up the metal ruler which also lived in her tin, along with a silver mechanical pencil that held a nice weight in her hands. She used the pencil now to draw the outlines of the table on the creamy paper of her notebook. Oh, she did love her stationary! She’d never even told Jeyne, but the first happy love song she’d sold wasn’t actually about Joffrey at all; it was an ode to her favourite fountain pen.

She was penning in the days of the week when she realised anew that Sandor had shared no opinions with which to do the steering. Taking a dainty bite out of her raspberry waffles and clearing her throat, she said, ‘Are you sure you don’t have any plans to share?’

‘I’ve lived my whole life planning for what I should do when I find myself engaged overnight to a pretty little bird with eleven coloured pens,’ said Sandor. ‘Written a whole book of plans for it, I have. It’s going to take days to go through it all. Hells, where do I even start?’ Was he making fun of her? Or was he making fun of their situation? Because it _was_ all a little ridiculous. But still, they must make the best of it. She always made the best of things. It was all you could do sometimes. ‘Guess you’ve got plans,’ he said. ‘You’ve got a notebook. People with notebooks are good at plans.’

‘I was thinking…’ she said. Her heart hammered away. How long had it been since she’d spoken these words about anything other than her music? When she was young, she’d always gone along with whatever Mother had suggested; her needs and wants had shrivelled in the face of Robb’s. And later, their nanny, Mordane, had always praised her for being far less wilful than Arya. _Such an easy child_. _What a perfect little lady_. And after that… Well. ‘I was thinking,’ she said, ‘since we are engaged, but not really, maybe we can limit the number of nights I stay over to twice a week? But we can always eat dinner together after we pick up Nori. Perhaps? If you’d like? I’m no good in the kitchen though. I mean… I can make pasta, and I make jacket potato in a microwave… But I’m guessing you can make food? The food at Nori’s birthday party was lovely. And in return, I thought… I can do the food shopping? If you’ve got a menu planned, then we can write it into this table and I can get the groceries?’

She was spinning her husky pen cap so fast now that it accidentally popped off and fell on top of her lemon cake. She snatched it away as quickly as she could, hoping that Sandor hadn’t noticed, only to brush her arm full of the sauce on top of her eggs benedict. Oh gods. Why had she ordered so much? It hardly all fit on the table with her notebook and pens. Sansa bit her bottom lip and hoped that he’d not see too many problems with the first part of her plan.

‘About the groceries,’ he said. ‘The budget…’

‘Oh!’ The budget? The budget had been the least of her worries. She budgeted, of course, for the bigger purchases in life, such as her flat, but she’d never considered budgeting for food – unless you were to have caviar smothered in truffle and saffron on a daily basis. Father had always said that wealth didn’t come from saving on food, for you needed to eat well to keep yourself healthy; true wealth came from earning and investing wisely.

Speaking of which, she still needed to work that meeting with the Mormonts into her schedule; the Bear Island Hot Springs Resort sounded like a promising investment opportunity. And there’d been talk that Manderly’s was planning a southern invasion; the first of her father’s old friend, Wyman’s coffee chain had opened just under a year ago right outside the Red Keep, and now they were talking about opening another three in King’s Landing. They’d also redesigned their logo so that the green merman looked even more zoomed in than before. Now you could hardly see the fish tail, and it was all face and beard.

‘I’m the one asking for room and board,’ said Sansa. ‘Just leave the groceries with me.’

Sandor opened his mouth, as if to protest, but instead shook his head and took a bite of his bacon instead.

‘You know I’d have refused if it were just me?’ His voice rumbled so soft and low that she hardly caught his words. And for a moment, that she hoped he wouldn’t catch, she froze. She should have been more careful. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that there were still two strangers dancing around each other, tugging at the armours that they’d built around themselves.

Hadn’t she felt far less than pleased when Joffrey had made himself her only source of income. Not that he’d ever lacked for money. This was different though. Wasn’t it? And hadn’t there been something else when she’d finally filled her own back account with the money from her first song? Something other than relief, other than freedom? Pride. Yes. That’d been what had made it so much better than anything else.

She didn’t know what to say to make things better, so she said, ‘There was a good school near Winterfell, where I come from, so my Mother sent all of us there. When I was twelve, several girls in my class found out about my family. My parents are… well, I guess you can guess. They’re pretty well-off. So those girls started saying how I should buy them lunch, and at first I didn’t really mind, because I liked making people happy, but then… Lunch became more things. Clothes they’d seen me wear, that they thought suited them better. Then jewellery. In the end, I stopped buying lunch for people, and… the groceries… I know you’re not… And… What I’m trying to say is… yes, I eat out a lot, even when it’s just me, but it’s honestly been so long since I’ve eaten anything other than a microwaved meal at home. So please let me get the groceries, as long as you don’t mind feeding an extra mouth. I’ll help with the tiding up as well!’ Actually, she’d meant to suggest her cleaner, but scrapped that off her list. ‘And we’ll just stick at it long enough for it all to blow over.’

The unburnt corner of his mouth twitched. ‘Until it all blows over then.’

She nodded. For that, she’d thought of a part two to her plans. But she allowed themselves a few quiet moments, filling in her timetable with mac and cheese and one-pot chicken stews. He picked the yellowish gold to with Malinois dogs on the cap represent him, and she lined the boxes around the days of the week she’d spend with him.

She drew up her shopping list for the day too. In fact, she was doodling a cow jumping over the moon when she muttered a line from the second part of her plan.

‘Maybe,’ she said, ‘not necessarily now… But one day, if you’re happy for me to, I can put Nori to bed and house sit for you some time, so you can have some evenings off?’

Her parents, as much as they loved them all, had appreciated those evenings. Date nights, they’d call them. And Sandor would need them too, to find someone real who’d one day replace her.

For a moment, there was a spark in his eyes, but it disappeared all too soon. She wanted to see it again. What was it? Hope? Hope that he’d soon be rid of her?

‘That would…’ he said. ‘Let’s talk about that some other time.’

Yes. They’d have to. It was nearing nine thirty, and she had to change out of her dress to make her next appointment.

Hot Pie scurried over, bill in hand.

‘Can we try to summon Arya for next time?’ said Hot Pie, as she tucked a few notes in the brown fake leather case that contained the bill.

That really would take a miracle. Her sister was currently undergoing intense training in the sabre water dancing category for the Oakenseats coming up in four months’ time. She’d phoned Arya three days ago, only to be greeted with a wobbly video phone image of Arya doing lunges and squats.

‘If it’s urgent, tell me before my legs die!’ Arya had said. ‘If not then let me die in peace.’

‘We can always try,’ Sansa said to Hot Pie in the present. Sharna gathered round too, and Sansa placed her phone in the middle of the table.

‘ _Mmmmmrnnn._ ’ Hot Pie groaned and waved his hands over the phone, as if trying to gain control of a spirit from a Ouija board.

‘ _Mmmmmrnnn._ ’ Sharna joined in.

‘Mrnnn _,_ ’ said Sharna’s husband, Husband, half-heartedly from somewhere behind the counter.

‘Come on Husband, you can do better than that,’ said Sharna.

‘ _Mmmmmrnnn._ ’ Husband tried anew.

Sansa’s phone buzzed.

_Incoming call: Arya_

‘Oh m gods!’ said Hot Pie. ‘I’ve gained a new skill!’

Sansa snatched up her phone. ‘Arya?’

‘Sansa! My favourite sister!’

And the only sister. They only used that line to each other when they wanted something.

‘What do you want?’ said Sansa.

‘Don’t tell Mother. She’ll go ballistic.’

That didn’t sound promising. ‘Did you injure yourself or something?’

‘Not quite… I… Um… I don’t have a coach anymore.’

‘What happened to Jaqen H'ghar?’

‘I fired him.’

‘…’

‘Just now. It was… His teaching was getting a bit too mystical. A bit too like a cult. He wanted me to throw away Needle, because it’s not a real sabre!’ Ah. Of course it was about Needle. As inappropriate as a real Valyrian steel sword was as a present for a young girl, no matter how small the sword, Jon’s present had always been Arya’s most prized possession. In fact, it was Needle that had first ignited Arya’s passion for water dancing. ‘It’s apparently supposed to make me commit one hundred percent to the sabre. I had to leave. I’m about to get on a plane now. Can I come and stay at your flat for a while?’

‘You hate my flat.’

‘So do you. As any sane person would. But the beds are pretty comfy. Can I please come and–’

‘You know you can. What time do you get here?’

‘Oh my gods! Arya’s coming!’ squeaked Hot Pie.

‘Is that Hot Pie in the background?’ said Arya.

‘Yes, I’m having breakfast at the Red F–’

‘Traitor! Hot Pie, ready your cheesy loafs. I’m coming to get them,’ shouted Arya. ‘Oops, the girl at the check-in counter is giving me a dirty look. I’ll see you later.’

‘What time?’ Sansa asked again.

‘Flight lands at two, so three?’

Three was school-run time. She couldn’t let Nori and Sweetrobin down. Fumbling for a solution, she said, ‘Can you come and meet me in front of a school instead?’

*

By the time she’d made her way to the yoga studio in her dark blue leggings that depicted the night sky and her light blue vest top, an outfit she’d put together for her visit to her new gym seemingly a lifetime ago, Sansa was praying to the Maiden and the Mother that fertility yoga would not only help her befriend Walda Frey, but also help her relax, help her quieten her mind from this morning’s unexpected news. Surely fertility yoga couldn’t be all that different to normal yoga? Just with a little more emphasis on hip opening, perhaps.

She took a deep breath and strode through the door, plastering a warm smile on her face.

‘Hello!’ she said, and winced at how cheerful she’d made her voice sound.

‘Hello, you must be Sansa?’ The woman who’d spoken had her luscious black hair tied in a messy ponytail, and had a handsome, striking face. Except Sansa was too stricken by the studio to take another look.

There were pink, lacy drapes lining the side walls, with a series of gold and blush beads trailing down the wall featuring the full-length mirrors. Which was still well enough. Except at the far end of the room, behind the woman who’d spoken, was a huge painting of a naked female figure in a pose that made Sansa blush. She’d seen the figure on coins Arya had brought back from across the Narrow Sea. It was some sort of a Lysene love goddess.

And worse, the walls behind the lacy drapes were covered with her in various poses.

It was a squeaky ‘hello’ that snapped her out of her reverie. She spun around and stared into the face of Walda Frey.

Walda was even larger than her photo on Facelessbook had suggested, and had an infectious smile that made Sansa want to give her a hug. She was dressed head to toe in pink, which brought out the pink in her cheeks, and had a red ribbon sticking out of her wispy straw-blonde hair. Sansa tried to keep her eyes on Walda’s face, for Walda’s pink t-shirt was printed with an image of the Lysene love goddess. Walda hadn’t worn that out on the streets of King’s Landing, had she? Once again, she sent a prayer to the Maiden and the Mother, this time begging them not to let the t-shirt be the yoga studio’s uniform.

‘Hi,’ Sansa said with a little wave, then realised that Walda had been greeting the black-haired lady, who was most likely the teacher, who had, in fact, spoken to her, but she had yet to reply. Turning back to the teacher, she said, ‘Hi, I’m Sansa.’

Hadn’t the lady asked if she was Sansa? Oh gods, she used to make conversation so easily. The years she’d spent with Joffrey, forbidden to make new friends and cut off from her old ones, had not done wonders for her conversational skills.

The lady didn’t mind, and simply smiled at her. ‘Ellaria. I teach this class. We spoke on the phone. I have given birth to four daughters.’

‘And I’m trying to bear by darling Roose a child as soon as possible!’ Walda squeaked. ‘Oooh, such a lovely ring you have there. It’s beautiful! How many children are you planning to have with your fiancé?’

‘We’re… trying to take things one step at a time,’ said Sansa.

‘Well, this is a very good first step,’ said Ellaria. ‘Now that both you and Walda are here, let’s get started.’

Wait. Wasn’t there only one space available? ‘Where’s everyone else?’ said Sansa.

Ellaria shrugged. ‘If you have friends who want to be fertile, bring them. There’s always a space available.’

‘Until there’s not!’ said Walda.

‘Exactly.’

And before Sansa could speak another word, Ellaria had pressed play, and the music that now drifted out of two speakers fixed to the top of the wall contained enough moaning to put that White Walker’s song intro to shame.

Sansa rolled out her yoga mat and drew in a deep breath.

Oh gods.

She’d rather be flayed alive than have Arya find out about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No fashion items for this chapter, as it was originally meant to be one long chapter with the previous one and the one that will follow. I was going to have Arya arrive a bit later on, but felt that’d make the Arya arc a bit too separate from the rest of the story, so here she comes.   
> And as I said in Harrenhal, I’m kind of fond of Frey women. Walda’s one of the good guys in this fic, I promise!  
> References:  
> \- Manderly’s logo redesign is based on the (many) logo redesigns that Starbucks had undergone. The Starbucks mermaid used to look a lot further away…  
> \- White Walker’s song with moaning: White Zombie’s ‘More Human than Human’  
> Also, I think after the next chapter, we’ll be moving into more character/plot-heavy elements, so will be easing off the references. Trying to play with some of the elements from Bran’s dream in the books, Sansa regaining Winterfell and giving Sandor a job etc in this setting – and of course, a final happy ending! Thanks for your patience, and thanks for sticking with me so far.  
> Next up: a phone call from Beth, coffee with an old friend, and finally, the school run. There will be a lot more Sansa and Nori moments in the next two chapters. I’ll try to update by the end of the month – will be updating Harrenhal and Magic of Us first.

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to Radio 1 a few days ago on the drive back, and they had this story from a listener about a lady who’d switched gyms and pressed a green button, thinking it was the exit, but it was in fact the fire alarm, so she ran away out of embarrassment… and this came into being.
> 
> Love Potion is a Temperley dress with a 40s silhouette: https://www.temperleylondon.com/love-potion-dress-shmi.html
> 
> Foolish is a bit like Baymax in my head, but a horse.
> 
> Not sure when I’ll update this one after the next chapter, as it’s not all mapped out yet. My main fic is still Harrenhal… Thanks for reading, and thanks for your patience!


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